Catch Me If You Can
by Sandrine Shaw
Summary: Barry and Leonard are caught in a game of cat and mouse. But who's the cat and who's the mouse?
1. Grand Larceny

**Catch Me If You Can**

 **Chapter 1: Grand Larceny**  
by Sandrine Shaw

The frosty bite of the ice uncomfortably seeps through the tri-polymer barrier into Barry's skin. He's busy getting the thermo-threading of his suit to defrost his feet without overheating the rest of his body, distracted enough that he doesn't really pay attention to his surroundings.

He jumps a little when Snart steps up to him, moving quietly like a cat and taking Barry by surprise when he's suddenly right there in his space. In his defense, he assumed Cold wouldn't be sticking around, making his get-away as fast as possible after he made sure that his pursuer was, quite literally, frozen to the spot.

But Snart doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave with his loot. He pulls off his goggles, and something about his expression gives Barry pause. A queasy feeling settles in his stomach that he'd almost think is fear, except he hasn't been afraid of Snart in a long time. They keep clashing, over and over again, a familiar old dance by now, but since they'd struck that deal in the woods, bruised egos and a few scrapes have been the worst either of them carried away from each other. Barry doesn't believe Snart is going to hurt him, not really.

Still, there's an intensity in his gaze that makes Barry's heart beat a little faster.

"What are you —" he begins, and that's as far as he gets, the question cut off by Snart's mouth on his.

It's an unhurried, measured kiss – not at all like the angry, heated clashes Barry imagined would happen if he and Snart ever gave in to the undercurrents of attraction buzzing like lightning between them. Snart's lips move lightly but without hesitation over Barry's and his gloved hand is cradling Barry's cheek, cool against his overheated skin as he angles Barry's head into the kiss.

Barry doesn't have time to respond, too stunned to react. By the time he gathers his wits, it's already over, as fast as it started.

Snart pulls back, his fingers brushing against Barry's jaw as he drops his hand. The shiver that runs down Barry's back has nothing to do with the ice at his feet. His tongue flickers out to lick his lips, drawing in Snart's gaze, and Barry doesn't think he imagines the way the frosty blue of his eyes becomes darker.

He can't quite muster the proper annoyance at the self-satisfied curl of Snart's lips, too distracted by the memory of how they felt against his. He stumbles over his words. "For real? I can't believe you'd just —"

He shakes his head, stopping himself – because really, who is he kidding? Of course Snart would.

Snart shrugs, clearly unapologetic. He points to himself. "Thief. I steal things."

Barry snorts. "Anything else you wanna steal, while you're at it?"

Snart's eyebrows fly up, and Barry at once realizes how his words could be taken. He feels his face heat and silently prays that between the poor lighting and the mask, his blush won't be obvious.

"Now that you mention it, there might be something I've had my eye on for a while." That familiar drawl is heavier and more deliberate than usual. Sharp blue eyes roam over Barry's body, so slow and deliberate that there's no mistaking Snart's meaning. "Tempting. But time's running out. Cops will be here in —" He makes a show of checking his watch, even though Barry's sure he's been timing this whole thing to the very second. "Two minutes, forty seconds. Better think some warm thoughts fast, Flash." With a smirk he motions down to where the ice still encases Barry's boots.

Barry pulls a grimace and levels what he hopes is a forbidding look at Snart. "Hilarious. You know that I'm gonna come after you as soon as I'm free, right?"

It sounds appropriately threatening, Barry thinks, congratulating himself for not letting on how flustered he is. For now, anyway. What he's going to do with Snart once he catches up with him is another matter entirely.

Snart's grin turns razor-sharp. "I'm shaking with fear," he deadpans.

He puts his goggles back on as he gets on his bike. With a cheeky little wave, he drives off, leaving Barry behind with cold feet and burning cheeks and Snart's taste still lingering on his lips.

... to be continued ...


	2. Home Invasion

**Catch Me If You Can**

 **Chapter 2: Home Invasion**  
by Sandrine Shaw

The sound of the television is the first thing Leonard hears when he rolls up the shutter gate a few feet and ducks inside his safe house. He assumes it's Mick, but the tell-tale burnt smell that usually accompanies his presence is noticeably missing. It can't be Lisa either, who only just called him a few hours ago from Coast City where she's laying low for the time being. No one else knows about this place.

Leonard's hand slides down to the holstered Cold Gun, ready to turn whoever was foolish enough to infringe on Captain Cold's territory into an ice statue, but the sight of Barry Allen casually lounging on the couch and zapping through the channels stops him in his tracks.

"Flash. Now that's an unexpected surprise. Making house calls now?"

Barry's lips curl into a smile that's just a little bit smugger than usual. He's still wearing the Flash suit but the cowl is off, pushed back to reveal flushed cheeks and windswept hair. Leonard doubts he's been here for long. In fact, he'd bet a small fortune that Barry got here only minutes before him.

"I literally told you I was gonna come after you."

It's true; those were indeed Barry's parting words as Leonard walked out of the loan shark's ransacked office with two briefcases full of money and the Flash frozen to the spot, but Leonard expected the threat to mean _I'm going to stop you from getting away with the loot_ rather than _I will wait for you in your living room and watch TV until you get home_.

He inclines his head to concede the point. "That's true, you did. Just thought you'd be a little _faster_ , Flash. I couldn't have had that much of a head start and you're usually quicker on your feet."

Barry's choked up snort when he's clearly losing the struggle not to let his amusement at Leonard's puns show feels like another victory. Not Leonard's first one today, after getting away with half a million dollars and his lips tingling with static electricity from the kiss he stole while Barry was temporarily incapacitated.

Something about the sly look Barry is giving him makes him think Barry already has a quick comeback ready. And indeed, the retort follows on the spot. "I don't know, Snart, I think I was here pretty fast, considering that I had to check all your safe houses to see which one you were most likely to use. I think I like the East End one best? Love the decor, though you might want to give the Hopper back to the museum before someone tips them off about its whereabouts. And just FYI, the house on Bennett Street is out of food."

Show off.

Leonard narrows his eyes. He knows that Barry's fishing, waiting for Leonard to confirm what he's found out, but it's hard not to take the bait. "Sounds like you got the wrong address. I'd never leave a safe house not fully stocked. Kinda defeats the point."

Barry's grin widens. "Yeah, well. I didn't say it wasn't fully stocked when I got there. I was hungry. Vibrating my legs to get that ice off takes up a lot of energy. The frozen pizza was really good."

That smug little —

"My my, Flash. Breaking and entering, petty theft... We're making a con man out of you yet. Maybe you wanna join my Rogues for our next job? Put all that criminal energy to good use?"

Barry laughs. "Dream on, Snart."

He sets down the remote control and stands, giving Leonard a suspicious once-over. "Apropos... where's the money you took?"

Did Barry really think Leonard would bring his loot back here with him? That would make the safe house... considerably less safe. He makes a show of slowly looking around himself in blatant mockery of Barry's assumption.

"No money here. Must have lost it on the way. Looks like you went through all the trouble to find me for nothing. Such a pity."

When Barry blurs towards him at superspeed and comes to a standstill right in front of him, Leonard wonders if he'll need the Cold Gun after all. He certainly expects indignant follow-up questions, demands to tell Barry where the money is and to hand it over, threats of delivering him to CCPD.

But all Barry does is huff and roll his eyes, both unimpressed and oddly blasé, like it was never about —

"The money wasn't all you stole."

Right. That.

A slow, satisfied grin tugs at the corners of Leonard's mouth. Stealing a kiss had been a spur of the moment decision, the kind of foolish impulse he usually knows better than to give in to. But Barry had looked _good_ , all frustrated and disheveled from the fight, held in place by the icy blast from Leonard's gun and struggling to get free. Leonard's forte has always been meticulous, careful planning, but that doesn't mean he can resist a crime of opportunity when it offers itself like that.

He'd been pleased with Barry's immediate response, but the fact that the kiss is clearly still on the other man's mind even a good two hours later makes it even better.

" _Did I_ , now?" Leonard drawls. He takes another step towards Barry, purposefully invading his personal space. "You're welcome to try and take that back."

Up close, it's easy to read the jumpiness Barry hid so well before. It's in the way the muscles of his throat work when he swallows, in the nervous flicker of his eyes, in the red indents marring his plush lower lip where his teeth have worried the tender skin.

Leonard wants to lean in and trail his tongue over the bruises, wants to taste the adrenaline and ozone on Barry's tongue. This time, he fights down the impulse. He may have teased Barry about taking back what Leonard stole, but it doesn't mean that he wasn't serious: if Barry wants this, it's up to him to make the next step.

Barry's eyes dart down to Leonard's mouth, and for what feels like endless seconds, the moment is frozen in suspension. Tension sizzles between them like electricity. Leonard follows Barry's every motion with bated breath, and he still fails to anticipate the exact moment when Barry surges forward in a burst of speed, his lips clashing against Leonard's. It's graceless and fervent, uncontrolled and nearly too intense. Leonard almost thinks can feel the lightning between them, crackling around their bodies, buzzing against his lips.

He brings up his hands to cradle Barry's jaw, changing the angle. Taking control of the kiss, he tries to slow it down and tame some of its unbound intensity, but the way Barry's body presses against his is distracting, and it's easy to get lost in the moist heat of Barry's mouth as Leonard lets their tongues tangle.

And then, in a blur of speed, Barry's gone. So is the Cold Gun from Leonard's thigh holster.

It takes Leonard a few seconds to get his bearings and notice how unfortunately light his hip feels, but by then it's already too late and Barry is standing by the door at the far end of the room with the gun in his hands, a victorious gleam in his eyes. He's grinning from ear to ear like he can't believe he pulled this off.

Honestly, neither can Leonard. He scowls. "Really, Barry? You sure you wanna play it like that?"

He infuses the appropriate level of threat into his words, even if he can't help being impressed by Barry's audacity and underhandedness. Impressed, and a little turned on. Not that he plans on admitting that.

Barry gives the Cold Gun a proud little pat and keeps smirking at Leonard.

"You're the one who told me to practice stealing," he points out.

Leonard narrows his eyes at him. He doesn't like to have his own words used against him. "Fair. You can take the gun, but you know I'll get it back. And make no mistake, I will retaliate."

For the first time, something like worry flashes across Barry's face, as if he only just remembered that Captain Cold is a villain and if Barry plays with fire – or ice, in this case – he might just get himself burnt.

"Just... don't kidnap my friends again, okay?"

Leonard's pleased to hear something like trepidation in his voice. He wonders what would happen if he told Barry he wasn't going to make any promises: would Barry budge, or would the odd playfulness between them evaporate and escalate the situation? There's no real need to put it to the test, and Leonard fights down the urge to be contrary and do it anyway.

"Don't worry, _Barry_. You made it personal. This is between you and me."

Barry's throat works convulsively and there's a hint of red on his cheeks that goes well with the color of his Flash suit. He looks like he's tempted to put the gun down and find out exactly how _personal_ things between them could get.

Hot and bothered is a good look on the Scarlet Speedster, Leonard decides.

He doesn't know if it's disappointment or anticipation he feels when Barry doesn't fold. Yes, he wants to take Barry apart right now, on the ragged old couch in his least favorite safe house, but he also wants to keep the game going and enjoy the thrill of the chase a little longer.

The smile Barry temporarily lost is back full-force. "You gotta catch me first, Snart."

Before Leonard can fire back a snappy reply, Barry blurs away, a trail of lightning following him through the closed gate that rattles when he flashes through it. As dramatic exits go, it's not so bad. Kid learned from the best, apparently.

"Challenge accepted," Leonard says into the empty silence of the room, his lips twitching as he finally allows his amusement to show.

He flops down onto the couch Barry vacated and starts plotting.


	3. Aggravated Assault

**Aggravated Assault**  
by Sandrine Shaw

It's a measure of Barry's tiredness that he doesn't notice he's not alone until he feels the kiss of cool metal against his bare neck. A shiver crawls down his spine in response, goose-bumps rising on his arms.

"I don't know what's more disappointing. The atrocious security at S.T.A.R. Labs or your _painful_ lack of alertness."

The Cold Gun, which should be stored under lock and key in a vault down in the pipeline where they safeguarded it after Barry stole it from Snart, whirs to life with a buzzing noise. The shock of cold from where the muzzle is pressing against his skin makes Barry jump.

Despite their positions and the wordless threat of pointing a deadly piece of weaponry right at where it could cause irreparable damage, Snart's tone is almost conversational. The drawl is lazy and condescending in a way that shouldn't be nearly as appealing as it is, but Snart putting on the Captain Cold voice always gets under Barry's skin in all the wrong ways.

Barry swallows. His arms flex where he's leaning on the desk in front of him, but he suppresses the urge to turn around and face Snart, forcing himself to stay perfectly still.

"Sorry to disappoint, I'm not really at the top of my game right now."

"Ah, yes. Didn't miss the headlines. _Flash Slowed Down! Central's Hero Suspiciously Absent After Chinatown Showdown!_ " Snart quotes the news with an extra flare of drama, making them sound ridiculously over the top rather than scary and all too real. He clicks his tongue. "A hit with the bookmakers, too. Whether or not Flash will get his powers back is the hottest bet in town right now."

So Snart _does_ know.

Some of the tension bleeds out of Barry's shoulders. He hadn't been sure if the news had travelled, wondering if he should point out that without his speed and his increased healing, a blast from the Cold Gun was bound to freeze him more... permanently than Snart might intend.

Perhaps Barry is being foolish and gullible, but he trusts Snart with the knowledge of how vulnerable he is right now, trusts him not to pull the trigger when it would effectively mean shooting to kill. They've come a long way since that night on the rail tracks.

"What are the odds?" Barry wants to know, genuinely curious.

There's a minuscule pause before Snart answers. "Let's just say people don't have an abundance of faith in your recovery."

Barry winces. "That bad, huh?"

He almost turns, but Snart presses the Cold Gun down harder, a none-too-subtle warning for Barry to stay put. He lets his head drop forward in an effort to ease the pressure and get away from the freezing metal. All it does is make him feel more exposed. Snart steps closer, until Barry feels the heat of another body behind him, a stark contrast to the cold the gun is emitting even without firing.

Still, he all but jumps when Snart's hand settles at his waist, catching the sliver of naked skin where his shirt has rode up. The touch is frosty – smooth leather gloves rather than bare hands, cool from handling the gun – and yet it makes Barry feel like he's burning up.

He sharply pulls in air, trying to calm his racing nerves.

"Gotta say," Snart drawls, "I like it. Having you all helpless and at my mercy. Unable to run off on me."

And that's— _Fuck_. It should be scary. Being vulnerable and exposed like this before an enemy who's all but announced that he plans to take advantage. The satisfied edge in Snart's voice at Barry's situation.

But they're more than just _enemies_ these days, something that defies being labeled, and the knot in the bottom of Barry's stomach isn't fear. He remembers the feeling of Snart's lips against his own, the velvety mixture of threat and promise in Snart's tone when he told Barry he'd come after him for stealing the Cold Gun.

Snart's thumb is drawing tiny circles on Barry's skin, dipping beneath the waistband of his jeans. A needy little sound escapes Barry's throat, unbidden. As soon as it's out, Barry immediately wishes he could take it back, embarrassment heating his cheeks. It's almost a miracle Snart doesn't tease him for it.

"If I put down the gun, will you behave?"

 _Jesus._

Barry closes his eyes and nods, not trusting his voice.

Snart steps away, and Barry resists the impulse to move. He's rewarded by the return of those devastatingly clever hands against his skin, and this time Snart isn't wearing gloves. His fingers are warm and calloused, firm on Barry's sides as he spins Barry around to face him.

Barry lets himself be manhandled without resistance, lets Snart push him up against the desk and kick his legs apart to step between them. Crowding him, close enough that Barry can make out the individual raindrops clinging to the fur of Snart's parka and smell his aftershave, close enough to see the way his dilated pupils make his eyes go darker.

Despite not having his powers, the sense of being cut off from the Speed Force like a physical loss, Barry could almost swear he feels electricity crackling between them. The moment stretches, tension building that itches underneath Barry's skin.

Snart's eyes drop to his mouth, and Barry realizes that he's been sucking his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it. For once, the carefully blank mask of cool amusement that seems to be Captain Cold's default expression has slipped. Snart is looking at Barry with unconcealed hunger, and his fingers flex against Barry's hips.

Barry doesn't know what he's waiting for, his heart beating up a storm in his chest, want and need and nerves and excitement making him light-headed. Snart seems to be content to see how far the tension between them will be able to stretch until it snaps, but Barry's never been good at being patient.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks, reaching out to clench a fist in the lapel of that stupid fucking parka and pulling Snart in for a kiss. It's fierce and desperate, much like their first kiss. Only this time Barry has no ulterior motive, no intention of stopping before they see this through.

He makes a small noise of protest when Snart only kisses back for a few seconds before angling his head backwards, effectively cutting Barry off.

"Barry, Barry, Barry. Didn't you promise to be a good boy?" Snart taunts, a satisfied smirk on his lips – as if he knows exactly how eager Barry is, and takes every bit as much joy in denying him as he does in pulling a successful job under the Flash's nose.

He brings up one hand to Barry's jaw, thumbing his bruised lip and forcing Barry's head backwards until his spine is a taut curve and his neck is bared for Snart.

"I can be good." Breathless promises tumble from Barry's mouth before he can stop himself. "Dammit, Snart, I can be so good for you. Let me show you. Just let me— _Oh, fuck_!"

Snart's mouth is on his throat, hot and wet and demanding, the raspy edges of his stubble dragging along Barry's adam's apple. It's almost overwhelming, painfully pleasant against the sensitive skin, and Barry arches into the touch. Snart's hands turn greedy. Sliding upwards underneath Barry's shirt, they roughly map out Barry's skin.

It feels amazing until Snart pulls Barry towards him, fingers tightening against Barry's ribs, sending a burst of acute pain shooting through Barry's torso that momentarily sucks all air from his lungs.

Barry lets out a pained little cry.

It's brief and quiet, but loud enough for Snart to notice. He draws back, eyes narrowed speculatively. He lifts Barry's shirt, frowning at what Barry, without looking down, knows is a spectacular bruise, dark violet and spanning across the entire right side of his ribcage from his front to his back.

Snart gingerly trails his fingertips over the marred skin, more carefully than Barry's ever seen Snart handle anything, including his precious gun and priceless artifacts he'd stolen.

"Broken rib?"

Barry doesn't meet his gaze. "Two, actually. I would have healed already if... you know."

He shrugs a little too aggressively, setting off another volley of pain. He forgot how fragile and _slow_ his body is when he doesn't have accelerated healing, how long the injuries from his battles linger. As the Flash, he barely ever feels the physical consequences of fighting other metas, much less regular criminals. As a depowered Barry Allen, it's another matter entirely.

The other man lets his palm rest against the bruise. The touch is soothing and gentle, almost tender, in a way Barry struggles to associate with Leonard Snart. When Barry looks up at him, his expression is closed-off, unreadable.

"I changed my mind. The whole 'helpless and at my mercy' thing has its drawbacks. I think I prefer you being your usual perky, annoyingly do-gooder self."

Letting Barry's shirt drop to cover the injury again, he withdraws and takes a step backwards.

Barry isn't sure whether Snart suddenly finding himself a set of morals is endearing or infuriating. It doesn't help that there's a small nagging voice at the back of his head that sounds like fucking Eobard Thawne, reminding him that _of course_ Snart doesn't want him like this, because Barry without his powers is nothing special. It's stupid and defeatist, and he thought he left those insecurities behind a long time ago. But they're hard to shake off when he can't be sure if he'll ever get his powers back, Snart's words from earlier about people betting against him ringing in his mind. It's enough to kill his arousal.

He cautiously slides off the desk, crossing his arms in front of himself in a way that lets him hide the steadying hands he puts against his ribs from Snart's sharp, intent gaze.

"You're really gonna be squeamish about a little bruising, Snart? Since when are you so bent on fighting fair?"

If he sounds a little bitter, so what?

Snart tilts his head and gives Barry a long, considering look. "It's true, I wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of your situation if I was pulling a job. But that's business, and this? Is not. Here's the thing, Barry: We've been headed down this way for a while now. Would be a shame to have to hold back when it's finally happening."

He closes the distance between them again, standing so close that his open parka brushes against Barry's shirt. It makes Barry want to close those last few inches again and get back to where they left off. He swallows and looks away.

"If I gotta handle you with kid gloves, it's only half the fun. For either of us. I don't mind mixing a little pain with the pleasure, leave you a little roughed up, but not because some asshole broke your bones and you didn't give yourself time to heal. If you're covered in bruises when we're done, I'm gonna be the one who put them there."

Barry huffs. "Dream on," he shoots back, but he can't deny that Snart's words send more than a little thrill through his body at the sheer possessiveness of Snart wanting to mark him.

Snart's mouth twists into a smirk. "We'll see."

It sounds like a promise. Lately, all of Snart's threats do.

He turns on his heel and picks up the Cold Gun from where it's sitting on one of the chairs.

"If you're really interested in a do-over, you could always leave that here," Barry suggests.

He's half-serious, even though he knows it's never going to happen. Snart throws his head back and laughs, one of those rare moments of genuine amusement Snart allows others to glimpse, and Barry can't quite help but smile along with him, despite knowing it's at his expense.

"Nice try, kid." Snart slips the gun into his thigh holster with a satisfied smile. "You ever want to give thievery a proper go, here's a lesson for you: It ain't enough to steal something, you gotta know how to keep it, too."

Barry wonders if they're still talking about the gun or something else entirely. "I'll bear that in mind. If I ever manage to steal something worth keeping."

He holds the other man's blue-eyed, amused gaze with challenge in his eyes until Snart inclines his head, acknowledging Barry's point. He turns to leave, but before making his exit, he faces Barry again.

Perhaps it's just a trick of the light, but Barry would almost swear that Snart's smile has grown warmer, and he thinks he can hear a certain fondness in his drawl.

"Better get some rest, Flash. I got twenty grand riding on your _speedy_ recovery. And you know how much I hate losing."

Barry ducks his head and smiles as the doors slide shut behind Snart.

To be continued...


End file.
